The Right Born
by Isolde Jansma
Summary: A succession and intrigue, with the usual suspects and a few aliens. Something to get your teeth into while I do more serious plottings... :D Enjoy!


**Disclaimer: The usual stuff, yada, yada, yada... Except the story is mine and so are the characters NOT Trek.**

**The Right Born**

**by**

**Isolde Jansma**

"He is dead," the woman at the head of the bed said, and with the finality of the statement rose to her stately full height stretching long legs cramped from remaining still for so long.

She turned hawk-like features squarely on her companions. Her siblings. As the eldest child it fell to her to see their father's remains were treated with the respect due a great and powerful chieftain.

"Tunis." Her oldest brother bespoke her with deference, for by birth alone, she was the true leader.

"Unalt," she responded, and dipped her head. "What would you speak to me of, my brother?"

He inclined his head in acknowledgement of her graciousness, and said, "Now our father lies breathless, beloved sister, it behoves us to move quickly to ensure the succession - "

An impatient, unhappy sound interrupted Unalt in mid-flow, and he turned his fierce visage to the speaker. "Laril." He recognised the source of the noise. "You would speak?"

His younger sister returned the regard coolly. "I would, beloved brother." Laril spoke rapidly, as if afraid of the words which were to tumble from her lips. "Now our father is dead, we must ensure the Federation is here to supervise the succession, or our cousins, with the help of Lord Cartha - " she spat the name out angrily as if it sullied her tongue in the speaking - "our... uncle - " she paused, glancing meaningfully at her siblings, and 'saw' agreement in each beautiful dark face - "before they... he... " She was unable to finish and placed her face in both palms.

Silently, the two remaining brothers placed their arms about their distraught sister. Gyrad raised his head, but not before he had covered his sister's distress with a fold of the robe he wore. The youngest brother - barely out of adolescence - Rilap, folded a corner of his robe also over Laril's corn-gold hair and held her closely.

Gyrad began to talk; he spoke for them all he felt. "The Federation must be here for the succession, beloved sister and brothers. Surely we risk our lives if we remain within?"

Unalt's rapier mouth grew harder, and he turned to Tunis. Thin nostrils flared, and he clasped his hands in the ritualistic nod of his people. "Brother, you speak the truth, as does Laril. Our lives are truly in peril should we remain here. The Federation has responded to our father's request, and is sending someone to bear witness." The light glinted from a high cheekbone, along the thin sensory pits which ran from nose to ear, illuminating his handsome features. He went on, "It will not be easy, my beloved. The Federation are unaware of the political tension and should they realise... " He trailed off, knowing he did not have to go into detail concerning the U.F.P.'s policy of non-interference in any world's internal affairs.

Not even that an affiliated planet such as Lavith 11 could be thrown into civil unrest would move them from the starkness of the Prime Directive. Unless...

Unless the involvement was not of their own doing, but the result of machinations beyond their control. Such a plan was already beginning, and Unalt applauded his father's foresight and cunning.

_Sleep easy, my father. Rest will not be denied you_, he thought, and bent to kiss his sire's dead, but still warm, lips.

* * *

**Captain's Log, Stardate 46624.2.: The Enterprise is to be present at the inauguration of the new hereditary President of Lavith II - an interesting political situation whereby a family all contend for the honour through democratic election. This is normally limited to brothers and sisters, but sometimes extends to include other relatives, generally in the absence of siblings.**

**I have been requested by Starfleet to represent them officially, as a witness to the succession. The late President, Pelatar, made the request before his death...**

Jean-Luc Picard paused thoughtfully before continuing with his log.

**I am... concerned at the involvement of the Enterprise in a planetary affair, but my orders are quite specific: as a witness only!**

**I have one other reservation... The rapid demise of Pelatar is, I believe, highly suspect. As this is pure conjecture however, I will await the unfolding of events with interest.**

"Captain." First Officer Riker's voice sounded loudly in the still of the ready room, and Picard waited for the Commander to continue. "We're within hailing distance of Lavith, and will be establishing standard orbit in fifteen minutes."

Picard glanced up from the small screen, and said, "Thank you, Number One." He ran his fingers over the controls and strode from the room onto the bridge.

He walked to the command chair, and sat in it, adjusting his uniform as he did. Crossing his legs, he observed the planet as they approached.

Lavith II. Home to a humanoid race of generous nature, of gentle temperament, gracile beauty; they were also blind, having evolved sonar and telepathy - honed to a fine edge - the two in conjunction making these people rather unusual. Lavith was also a world of soft breezes and gentle rain; one where war and civil unrest were unheard of, and had not reigned for over a millennium.

The Captain tilted his head, and narrowed his eyes. "Worf," he instructed, "open hailing frequencies to the palace officials, and the U.F.P. Embassy to inform them of our arrival."

Worf addressed the Captain as soon as he had established communications. "Sir, frequencies now open."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," responded Picard and rose out of the centre chair as he waited for a response.

The viewscreen flickered into an image of a tall humanoid female of quite striking features - dark-skinned, almost ebon, with the curious gold-peach fluff that caused the light to refract from her so effectively, and which deepened into deeply gorgeous wheaten hair to fall behind her in rippling waves. She flickered long exotic hands, and turned her blind face towards them in Lavithian greeting. She inclined her head gracefully, showing clearly thin strips like silver scars, the receptors for her sonar; they looked as if they were merely markings at first, until the light reflected from them.

"I am Tunis," she said simply. Distaste for the machinery in front of her flickered over her face; the Lavithian people disliked the use of instruments to speak - even _these_, brought about by the conjunction of the best minds of Lavith and Federation. Needs must though. Talking with non-telepaths was always a problem. She continued, the rich tones of a vibrant voice caressing the bridge and its human Captain. "You must be the witness my father requested before his... his... death."

_Odd_, thought the Captain with interest. _An unusual welcome. Not the one I expected_. Aloud, careful to keep the musing from his tones, Picard agreed, "Yes, I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard, Tunis."

The sleekly gold head bowed again and she rose to her feet. "Captain," she began, "I would welcome you to our home in person, but it is imperative that I and my siblings do not delay in the accession." She leaned into the screen, intense with some alien emotion, then smiled close-lipped. "We must, Captain Picard, be about our business as soon as possible. Without delay. The elections must take place within the next ten-day."

"Madam, I will be at your disposal," he replied politely; she inclined her head regally, and the screen image bounced to be replaced by the view of Lavith. Picard turned to Troi, and looked a question at her. "Counselor...?" His tone invited further discourse.

Troi answered after a moment. "She's hiding something, Captain, but I'm not certain what. The Lavithians are a... highly telepathic race, with good shielding, and... I'm sure I caught a glimpse all's not as it should be... " she announced cautiously, hesitantly, as if careful consideration was required, after her initial words. "I can't be certain of anything yet, sir. I'll need to be in close vicinity to make a more accurate judgement."

"Hmm," Picard said thoughtfully. He was not completely at ease with the situation; his intuition was giving him a bad time. "Anything else, Deanna?"

The Betazoid made a little move; a tiny lift of her shoulders indicated she felt her earlier statement was more than adequate for the time being.

"I see." Picard turned to the Klingon. "Worf, have the Embassy responded to our hail?"

"They are waiting to talk to us, sir," the security officer replied.

"Put them on," Picard directed.

Once more a face replaced the planet. This was of a grizzled individual with grey eyes, eyes which were cool and appraising. The small mouth, hidden by a neat beard and moustache, spoke his name with the same reflected coolness. "Picard."

"Sir," responded the Captain in kind, and waited for the human on the screen to speak again.

"Captain," the man started, "I would not have asked you here. It was only at the behest of the late Dut'vth Pelatar that you were called. I consider it to be an insult to myself, and my staff." The grey eyes regarded Picard with ice in their depths.

The Captain inclined his head fractionally towards the screen. "It is not a duty I find myself at ease with, Ambassador Garr."

Garr continued to watch Picard carefully for a moment. He seemed to come to a decision, and spoke again. "Have you arranged the details for the inauguration dinner, Captain?"

The question caught Picard on the hop. It was something he had not given much thought to, if he was honest, and had assumed, erroneously it would seem, that the dinner would be held on Lavith.

The Ambassador, an astute reader of body language, recognised the Captain's dilemma, and came, reluctantly, to the rescue. "You were unaware of your responsibilities, Captain, to Tunis and her siblings?"

Picard managed to shake a reply out of his surprise. "It was something we had not been advised of, sir,. Obviously, the information we have regarding the protocol for this is sadly out of date."

Garr grunted. "That doesn't surprise me, Captain, as it is an old ceremony - _very_ old. The request for Starfleet's presence was... unexpected also." He stood and re-arranged his desk carefully before continuing, "There are some conventions you and your staff should be aware of." He directed his attention back to the bridge after he had satisfactorily completed tidying the table. "My aide will transmit the information to your communications station." The cold eyes stared out of the viewscreen at Picard, carefully calculating. "If you should need anything further... " He allowed the sentence to trail, and gave a thin smile; he flicked his regard to one side and again the screen showed Lavith II.

The silence on the bridge following the communiqué was startling. Riker's voice cut through the silence as efficiently as a laser.

"Not an auspicious start to the proceedings, sir," he remarked, and shared a quick look with his Captain.

"No," agreed Picard. He tugged his uniform into place, and tapped his communicator. "Guinan, I'd be grateful if you'd join me in my ready room."

"On my way, Captain," the woman responded, and yet more silence followed.

Picard rose, and addressed the First Officer. "The bridge is yours, Number One." He strode back to his ready room without a further glance at the bridge.

* * *

Guinan stepped through the doors into the room and cocked her head at Picard. He was seated behind his desk, and had a particularly sombre expression on his face. "You've got a problem."

It was not a question, but a statement and she moved forward to the chair opposite him and sat in it. She gave a faint smile, then leaned forward resting her chin on her knuckles. Picard sighed "A banquet, Guinan. Do you think you could have everything prepared by tomorrow by 19:00 hours?" When she gave him a little nod, he relaxed visibly and leaned back in the chair, shifting slightly. "I'll leave it all in your capable hands, then."

Guinan did not move from her position; she studied the Captain's face carefully, her dark eyes taking note of the signs of strain on those familiar features. "Something," she said, "is bothering you."

Picard frowned, a set of creases appearing across his brow and etching lines from nose to mouth. "I don't know, Guinan." He shook his head. "Just call it a hunch... a gut feeling if you must. But I know there's more to this than meets the eye, and the Counselor would seem to concur with me." He stood, and walked round the desk to stand beside her and lean against its edge. He glanced down at his booted feet, and took a deep breath; he let it out sharply in a self-deprecatory manner before waving his hands dismissively. "I could be wrong. It could all be perfectly innocent."

"True," Guinan agreed slowly, and tipped her head at him in an interested manner. She relaxed her hands, and laid them flat on the table top. "But you don't think you're wrong about this, do you?"

Picard shook his head again, and rose to walk over to the fish to observe their endless motion in their tiny world. "No, I don't," he said quietly.

"Then," Guinan spoke softly, so softly Picard strained to hear her, "you must be prepared to follow your instinct, Captain. Has it ever failed you before?"

He gave a short bark of laughter at her comment and managed a rueful smile over one shoulder. "No, Guinan, I don't believe it has."

"Then you've answered your own question, I think." She returned his smile, got up from the chair and headed for the doors. They slid open with a quiet shoosh; she turned before leaving. "I'll let you know as soon as the dinner is prepared."

"Thank you," responded Picard. They both knew he meant more than he was saying. The Captain followed her out onto the bridge, and made his way up the ramp to the observation lounge. "A staff meeting," he said without preamble.

His staff with a certain amount of expectation greeted these words, and they all obediently trooped after their Captain into the room.

"Data," began the Captain, "what do we know about the Lavithians?" He reached the head of the table and sat in the chair, waiting for the Second Officer to reply.

Data's face became still as he checked his information, accessing the files he had in storage. "The Lavithians have been members of the Federation for two point three decades. They have an intriguing, and unique - " he was starting to warm to his subject, and the eagerness to divulge the facts showed in his features - "political system of hereditary presidency - "

Picard held up his hand to halt the android in mid-flow. "Yes, Data, thank you. I was already aware of this." He thinned his mouth. "What else do we know about these people and their customs?"

Data frowned. "There are gaps in the information I have, sir," he replied, almost apologetically. "However, etiquette indicates we should, as the independent witness, host the banquet as Ambassador Garr has already stated. It is a custom predating the present form of democracy by some three hundred years."

"That's odd," the First Officer remarked "Very peculiar indeed."

He settled back in his chair and squinted at Picard with a calculating expression on his face. "Do I get the feeling, sir, that you're not certain why _this_ particular custom has been reinstated?"

"Yes, Number One, you do," agreed the Captain; he tapped his fingers on the table surface for a second before addressing his Chief of Security. "Worf, what information did Ambassador Garr give us?"

The Klingon folded his arms across his chest. "Not very much, sir;" he said regretfully. "The details mostly concerned specific food requirements, the numbers to be expected, by how much we will need to decrease the gravity, and so forth."

"No peculiarities?"

Worf thought, then shook his head "Nothing that springs to mind, Captain."

Riker asked, "Are you looking for something in particular, Captain?"

Picard gave a slight grimace. "Not precisely, Will. Rather, I'm trying to find a clue as to what this is all about."

His staff regarded him with interest, and it was Troi who voiced their thoughts. "There's a possibility this is a ruse for some kind of cover-up," she hazarded. "That might explain the feeling I had from Tunis... and the... ambiguity from Ambassador Garr...?" She came to a halt, and caught the Captain's eyes. There was approval in them.

Picard gave a nod of agreement. "You're quite sure you could sense nothing more - " He hesitated as he searched for a word - "more... _substantial_?"

"No, Captain," she said ruefully.

Data piped up, "It is your conjecture, Captain, that Pelatar knew he was going to die?"

"Astute as always, Commander," responded Picard, and gave a grave glance to his staff. "The fact we are to be hosts for this inauguration dinner seems to confirm my suspicions." He dropped his chin to his chest in thought for a moment before addressing Riker. "Worf and I will transport to the Embassy to speak with Garr. I want to ascertain how much he knows of the political atmosphere, and whether he has noticed anything... odd."

Riker looked mutinous, but backed down at the clear gaze he received from Picard. "I'd prefer to do this myself, sir," he insisted.

"Yes, Number One, I dare say you would. However, this is where I take the helm." He turned his attention to the android officer. "Data, I want you to collect and go through all information pertaining to this custom and the circumstances likely for its application."

"Yes, sir," Data responded, and rose from his chair to go about his business.

As the doors closed behind him, Picard turned to the Counselor. "Deanna, I'll need you. Your input will prove invaluable." Finally, he addressed Riker. "Will, the Enterprise is yours. Mr. Worf, with me." And he left the room with Troi and the Klingon close on his heels.

Riker stared at the doors as they shut on his Captain, then headed purposefully for the bridge, shaking his irritation firmly into place.

* * *

A tall figure stamped through the gently falling rain, pulling at the dark mantle to keep the water out of his face. He made his way unerringly towards the steps of the house in front of him, not pausing except once to toe a child's pet out of his way. The small reptilian creature uttered a single screech of annoyance and fled, tail dragging behind it, up the nearest and darkest alleyway. It whistled disgustedly as he went past, rattling its scales threateningly, and poured poison out with its feeble telepathic powers. The figure gave it no further heed, but sent an automatic command for the beast to stop its whining.

Lord Cartha strode past his guards and across the polished and warm wooden floor of his palatial residence. The Lavithian paused momentarily before a small shrine, bowing to it; he placed thin fingers in a hollow and withdrew them almost immediately bringing them to his nostrils. He drew a breath through his lungs, allowing excitement to race through him. Such a challenge did not often come in any man's lifetime. He gave a wry chuckle. Indeed... not for many lifetimes. The brief respite from his scheming afforded him some small pleasure, and he set off again in the direction of the clandestine meeting he was to head.

The Lavithian's long even stride brought him eventually to a pair of doors which he opened, swinging them shut behind him as he went into the room beyond.

Blind faces turned to greet their father, and there were faint murmurs of obeisance. Cartha's mouth tilted in a smile, and he hummed slightly as he identified each of his offspring by their own familiar body shape and scent, the tell-tale 'feel' of each mind as it opened to him, allowing him to 'fit' into the collective identity of family.

"Lord," murmured the eldest of his children. The young male who had spoken topped his father by some centimetres.

"Iladyth." Cartha acknowledged his son, turned his attention on the remaining children. "Have the rituals been completed?"

"Yes, Lord," they chorused.

Cartha felt pride in his family course through him. "Excellent."

He threw back the hood of the cloak he wore, scattering the drops of water from the fine dark material. Some fell to spatter and bedew the floor, sparkling like so many netted stars in the glimmer of sunlight, and there, in the stillness of the room, tiny motes of dust hung, flurrying in the stream of brightness. He undid the clasp, discarding the cape on the seat of a large carved chair.

Cartha moved deeper into the room, sensing for the alien he knew should be here. A Human. One of Garr's staff, bought for so little. The Lavithian shook his head. These creatures were so strong, quite dangerous until you had one of them caught by the Lol'Irthit. Human minds were weak, open to suggestion, and vulnerable to the technique Cartha's ancestors had found so useful in hunting larger, more ferocious predators than themselves. It had been almost too easy to bend this one to their will.

"So, Riefenstahl, have you been able to arrange for Laril's demise aboard the Federation Starship?"

The object of his attention shifted slightly, and withdrew deeper into shadows. "You do not answer," Cartha's voice was soft, but all the more dangerous for that.

Riefenstahl adjusted the well-made tunic he was wearing, and nodded, somewhat reluctantly. A powerful man, with a thatch of dark-blond hair which tumbled in disarray to broad shoulders. "The arrangements are made, sire," he said in a low rumble, breath quickening with incipient excitement, knowing what awaited him.

"Who will assist you?" Cartha snapped his fingers at the man imperiously. "Dickinson? We can trust him?" The blond head bowed slightly in response, and Cartha blew out a breath as he regarded the human shrewdly. "Here!" he ordered, and the man obeyed with alacrity.

The Lavithian scanned the human briefly, then touched the nerve centres in his brain which were receptive to pleasure, and triggered a release of endorphins. Riefenstahl stiffened, gasped slightly, his eyes widening with shock at his body's remembered, violent reaction to the stimulus, the sense of pleasure almost orgasmic in nature.

Cartha and his children joined and applied themselves to the ritual with assiduity. Together, it was easy to bond this creature to their whim, and they left the man rigid, his brain filled with no thought except to serve them the best he was able. They filled him with the plan, showed him its intricate details, pummelling the thoughts into shape so that no-one would be able to tell if the thoughts were Riefenstahl's or foreign. But the human would know he belonged body and soul to Cartha, owed allegiance to none but they, and it would be only under intense scrutiny from a Master that they could be discovered.

The Lord was well pleased with his children, with his vassal, and... with himself. He allowed self-satisfaction to begin to warm him, and he smiled, the glint of pointed teeth showing briefly from under his lips. Everything was going to plan. The death of Pelatar, the destruction of the sibling link with the demise of Laril - already in its final stages with the premature death of their sire. Cartha sighed before he made his way to his favourite chair. It was good to be alive.

* * *

Picard and his companions materialised in a large garden and as soon as they had solidified, Garr stepped forward to greet them. He proffered an infinitesimal bow to the Captain, and merely acknowledged Worf and Troi with a curt nod.

"Captain." Garr held out an arm and gestured towards the building ahead of them. He fell into step beside Picard; they set off up the pathway.

The Captain took the time to take in his surroundings. The lighter gravity made him feel as if he was flying up the path, and he enjoyed the sensation as well as the vista set out before them.

The Embassy was built in a circle of the red-brown brick the Lavithians favoured. It was a modern building, but not unattractive, and had vines creeping up the surface of the walls in a confused mass of leaves. The plants were studded with the small bright stars of their flowers, tiny white gems amid emerald-green fading to lemon. The whole effect was colourful, and with the tall Lavithian servants in their formal dress, intensely regal.

Troi, behind Picard, could not help but appreciate the garden with its beautifully kept borders and neatly swept gravel. Each and everything in the garden looked as if it had grown there because it wanted to, not because someone had placed it there. That, she understood, was the hallmark of a gardener who was a true artist, and no mere artisan. That this had all been accomplished without sight...! It was a garden where she would be happy to while away many an hour.

Worf noticed her approval, and gave a mental sigh. He attracted her attention as she was beginning to lag behind the Ambassador and the Captain, and waited for her to catch up.

"Counselor," he rumbled in an undertone, "please stay in step with us. It is my job to ensure both your and the Captain's safety. I would not like something to happen to you." Seeing agreement in her face, he went on, "Have you noticed the appearance of the servants?"

Furtively, Troi scanned the tall aliens, but could see nothing untoward. She hesitantly felt for their emotions, and found their minds were well-shielded; she could barely sense any residual leakage. Each was tightly controlled. She raised a brow, and gave Worf a questioning look.

"I know what I feel, Worf," she said "What do you see?"

The Security Chief scowled, then said, "Weapons." He glanced at the woman beside him, and registered the unquiet sitting on her face. "For a world with a record of peace such as Lavith, Counselor, I think this highly suspect."

"I'm with you," Troi agreed, quietly fervent. "We'd better let the Captain know."

"Agreed." Worf continued in a low voice, "However, I do not believe now is an opportune moment. As soon as we are unlikely to be disturbed, I will contact Commander Riker, and inform the Captain." Worf clenched the muscles in his jaw before continuing. "I am... uneasy, Counselor."

"So'm I," she muttered, and gave the Klingon a radiant smile for the benefit of the Lavithian they passed.

The tall male spared them a small part of his attention, but directed the intensity of the regard on the Ambassador and his companion. Both Picard and Garr seemed oblivious of the interest they were receiving, and passed by them as if they were invisible.

The men melted into the brickwork like the excellent retainers they were; Worf took note of this, calculating their possible movements as they entered the Embassy. He could not help feeling uncomfortable, and he could see the Betazoid was having the same trouble. He checked his phaser surreptitiously.

Troi sent her empathic skills further into the place; she could _feel_ each Lavithian, as if they were a blank spot, as if they did not exist, so carefully were they controlling themselves. She touched Worf briefly on the arm; she had become aware of something before it was savagely suppressed.

"Worf... " she began, but once she had his regard could not finish the sentence; it had gone, whatever it was, vanished like mist in the sun. She shook her head, and the Security Chief ground his teeth with impatience.

He took a good look at the interior of the Embassy while fighting his irritation, and scanned the balconies which were piled on top of one another like the layers of a wedding cake. His tactician's mind made calculated assessments, filing them neatly for further reference, searching out the best defences and escape routes.

Along each were ranged the household - all Lavithian - and Worf moistened his mouth with the tip of his tongue. None too soon, for him at least, they moved out of the central area of the building into a corridor, then entered a room which was purely functional.

There was a central desk, some easy chairs, and a number of cabinets. The ubiquitous computer console was set on the desk surface, and sitting at ease in a chair to one side of the table, her long limbs arranged elegantly, was Tunis. She raised her head as they approached, taking her hands out of the book she had on her lap.

The woman rose to her feet; came towards them. She was impressive. Nearly two metres tall, slim as a wand, she gave them her people's welcome - an outspread hand. "Captain," she said; she smiled gravely at them and Garr. "It is a great pleasure to meet you." Inclining her head to Garr, she extended a slender hand to Picard.

The Captain clasped the hand and bowed slightly over it. "Madam." He released her.

"And these are...?"

Picard turned to introduce Troi and Worf, who both took the slender hand briefly. They stepped back politely, allowing the Captain to continue to a seat once the introductions were completed.

Garr swept past Tunis and Picard to take the seat behind the desk, and propping his elbows on the table-top, clasped his hands to gaze shrewdly at them all. "Captain, Tunis will be coming herself to the dinner you are arranging on the Enterprise, as you know. However, her siblings will accompany her also, which is slightly more unusual."

"Indeed," agreed the Captain; he waited patiently for Garr to continue.

The Ambassador's features schooled themselves into impassiveness, allowing nothing past the diplomatic mask. "There will be a party of fifty persons to accommodate, and - "

Picard cut in impatiently. He had waited quite long enough, and even now, this man was prevaricating. He wanted to find out what the hell was going on. "Ambassador," he said firmly, in accents that brooked no argument, "I would be inordinately grateful if you'd tell us why there is all - "

Tunis interrupted Picard - _Too close_, she thought, panicking slightly, desperately quelling her emotions, knowing that the woman Picard had brought with him was an empath. _He's too near the truth..._ - with a quiet clearing of her throat."Captain." She drew up beside him, put her palms upwards in front of his face. "Please, I beg you, indulge me. I realise you are uneasy with our customs, but this is a necessary thing - I swear we will not trouble you or your ship longer than we need."

Picard pursed his lips slightly, still unconvinced - though she sounded sincere enough. He gave a sigh - he really could not find any reason at the moment to deny Tunis' request. Reluctantly, he gave her a nod of agreement. "Very well. But... Madam, Ambassador, I need to speak to the Enterprise - " he held up a hand as Garr opened his mouth to protest - "privately."

Something passed over Tunis' face and Garr's features became even blanker than before. The Ambassador obviously noticed what was in her features because he backed down noticeably. "As you wish, Picard" he said, and withdrew with the Lavithian to an annex off the main room.

Picard waited until they were out of earshot before turning to his staff. "Worf?" he asked carefully.

The Klingon regarded the occupants of the annex before he spoke, and then he hesitantly offered his opinion. "I believe the Lavithian servants are carrying weapons, Captain. However - " he looked almost apologetic - "until I have the opportunity to bodysearch one of them, that may be idle guesswork. Also, I think your... hunch of something being hidden, something to do with internal politics, is correct."

"Politics, hmmm?" mused Picard. He folded his arms, narrowing his eyes as he thought. "Yes, that would seem to fit." He raised a brow at Troi in question.

The Betazoid's pretty mouth drew into a hard line. "I have to agree with Worf, sir. The Lavithians are generally people who broadcast their emotions in communication, and they are not doing that. In itself, I would have to report that as a highly unusual circumstance."

"Politics, though?" Picard was puzzled. All the facts did seem to fit a coup of some kind - but on a world noted for the stability of its political system? Frankly, he really was quite confused.

He tapped his insignia. "Picard to Data. Commander, have you managed to find the circumstances which would involve an independent witness being present at an inauguration on neutral territory?"

The android did not respond immediately, and Picard waited patiently. Finally, Data replied. "Captain, I have been unable to trace a single instance of the initiation of the ceremony Y'Reth within recent history. Certainly, it has not been called for as long as Lavith has been a member of the Federation, nor was it a prerequisite of Pelatar's own succession some thirty point five four years ago."

"I see... " said Picard. He sighed - the pieces to this particular puzzle did not seem to be fitting together any more easily. All this line of research appeared to be doing was to raise yet more questions. He addressed his Second Officer. "Continue with this line of inquiry, Commander, you may yet find a common denominator."

"Very good, sir," replied Data, and the communication ceased.

Picard sucked in a breath, and chewed his mouth for a second. "Ambassador Garr, Dut'vth," he said calmly. "I would be delighted to have you aboard the Enterprise for dinner tomorrow evening at 19:00 hours."

Tunis and Garr travelled back from the annex as they heard the Captain give the invitation. Both bowed politely in response.

The alien woman touched her fingertips to Picard's face briefly in an expression of thanks, and swung on her heel, sweeping past with graceful, light steps. Garr watched her exit, then eyed the Captain.

"You are not required here, Picard," he said, and on these words dismissed them as if they had never been there by removing himself from their presence.

Worf growled as he watched the man leave the room. "I do not care for Garr, Captain."

Picard gave a faint snort of agreement, as the man's attitude had set his nerves on edge. "Sometimes, Mr. Worf, we are unable to choose our bedfellows. Expediency can often make fools of us all." He gave Troi and the Klingon a grim smile. "We'll have to see what tomorrow holds for us, won't we?"

Tapping his communicator, the Captain said clearly, "Three to beam up, Mr. O'Brien."

* * *

Garr followed Tunis at a slight distance, deep in thought. He was extremely perturbed by what seemed to be happening around him. He knew his attitude to Picard had been more than a little... forced... Perhaps he was getting too old for this job. _God knows, I've been doing it since Pelatar took the reins!_

The Ambassador turned into the garden and strolled alongside Tunis; she bent to sniff and examine the perfume and shape of a flower. He watched her, knowing she could sense his concern, his worry, and his indignation. He thought it was well-hidden, but could never be totally certain how much, or how deeply, a Lavithian would probe to find the truth. Of course, the death of Pelatar would decrease their abilities somewhat but, nevertheless... It was always wise to hide the most perturbing of emotions.

He made a conscious decision to speak. "Madam, why was the Federation brought into what is a purely internal affair?"

The tall woman straightened and turned her spectacular head to face him, pretending ignorance. "I do not understand your question, Ambassador."

"Hah!" Garr scoffed, then shook his head and folded his arms, speaking freely as only one who knew her well could. "Tunis, I've known you and your siblings all your lives; your mother was my friend, and Pelatar was a - " a faint smile played round the human's mouth in remembrance and deep appreciation of the wily alien chieftain - "a... _worthy_ opponent. There is _nothing_ you cannot tell me. I am a friend - "

"You are _also_ a servant of the Federation first, Ambassador," Tunis reminded him sharply. "This is not something I can seek counsel about."

"Why?" Garr pushed; nearly thirty years had _still_ not been enough to totally prepare him... This was proving to be a tense situation, one he was not able to get to grips with. He was very worried by the withdrawal into such a tight family knot by Pelatar's children. True, they were the Right Born, and it was as much custom that led them into seclusion as grief and the need to mourn... but to call the Y'Reth and ask for outside witnesses...?

"My sire's death was no accident."

"I know," Garr agreed. He was insistent then. "You do not need another witness; I would be honoured to take the task - "

"No!"

The Ambassador raised his brows at the familiar tones - she was her father's daughter, and no mistake - lapsing into silence. A questioning silence.

"Do not press me -" she snapped; she whirled back to the flowers, her back stiff - "for I cannot give an explanation now."

"Cannot, or will not?" asked Garr, pressing for her reasoning.

"Either. The choice is yours."

Presented with the devil or the deep blue sea, Garr shrugged slightly, and turned away from her, knowing he would not get an answer from her now. Her lovely voice reached him as he started back up the path.

"Ambassador... "

Garr paused, swinging back to face her, and tilted his head curiously on one side. He sketched a bow. "Madam?"

Tunis' lips vibrated slightly, and the Human felt the touch of her sonar as she orientated on him. She seemed to be considering a reply of some kind to the unvocalised questions hanging between them.

"Nothing, Ambassador." She flipped her long hand at him, indicating he leave her presence.

Garr bowed again, and left her.

* * *

As soon as Picard walked onto the Holodeck he experienced the gravity shelf which was present at the entrance - it caused him to stumble momentarily. Inside, Guinan had done them proud, and he knew he had been more than right to assign this duty to her. Guinan instinctively knew what was right in these circumstances.

The whole place was a treat for the eyes. Where she had obtained the necessary information regarding the Y'Reth he could not guess - certainly not in such fine detail. The lady, herself, was adding the finishing touches by arranging a huge banner of some exotic, sweetly perfumed herbs and flowers around the perimeter of the room.

With her usual uncanny instinct for knowing when someone was in a room with something on their mind, Guinan said, her voice slightly muffled, "What do you think, Captain?"

Picard rotated slowly to take in the entire effect, and nodded silently before saying a word. "Quite beautiful, Guinan."

She got down from the chair she had been standing on, dusted off her hands carefully, and tipped her head on one side to gaze at him interestedly. "Okay, what gives?"

Picard shrugged, almost imperceptively.

Guinan squinted at him knowingly, sauntering over to stand by him. "Nothing to say, Captain? Or do you find it impossible to articulate your worries?" The comely dark face with its fine eyes waited with humour in their depths - there always was, unless the problems really were insurmountable.

"The same, huh?" She cocked her head again.

"The same," agreed Picard; he found a seat and plonked himself in it. He glanced up at her. "Tell me, Guinan, what are your instincts on this - " he waved his hand around the Holodeck - "and what it means? Do you have any idea, at all, what in God's name I'm getting involved in, and why Garr is such a... " He shook his head in frustration, searching for the right phrase. He had it. "Stuffed shirt."

"Well," Guinan started; she gave a chuckle, "I could be wrong, but I think he's wary of you because - "

Picard cut in in disbelief. "Good grief, Guinan! The man surely doesn't think I'm after his job, does he?"

It was Guinan's turn to shrug. "Could be. Could be you might need him as an ally, Captain. I'd try cultivating him, if I were you."

The Captain gave an incredulous snort mixed with irritation. "Hardly my choice, Guinan, to be here."

"True," she agreed. "But you could do worse than simply being a little more giving yourself."

Picard eyed the woman, and opened his mouth to speak, but she broke in before he could get anything out. "I really need to get this finished, Captain, so you can perform your required duty correctly in every way." She smiled to take the sting from her words. "If you don't mind, of course."

Summarily dismissed, Picard headed out of the Holodeck back to his quarters, her words echoing in his brain.

* * *

The eldest brother, Unalt, took in the surroundings of the ship the five of them found themselves on with fascinated interest, and some delight.

On his face, the traces of new-found love could be seen beginning to etch its transparent, longing way. He took intense breaths, his mouth aquiver, directed at the equipment in the transporter room before they were led away. He was equally intense in the following tour Picard took them on round the Enterprise.

Unalt finally addressed the Chief Engineer - on first sensing La Forge he had been startled by the strange technology fixed to his face, but managed to control his impulse of shock and switch it to other areas. "Commander, you have been able to designate certain areas of this ship for our comfort simply by routing a sub-command through your main computer?"

La Forge turned his VISORed face in the tall alien's direction before replying to the question. "Essentially that's right, sir. Obviously we've had to retain normal gravity in some areas for the comfort of the rest of the crew, and to ensure the correct functioning of certain key equipment. But, you and - " he gave a slight bow to the others in the Captain's party – "your siblings are unlikely to go into those."

Laril floated up to the Engineer, and with the open curiosity of her people, reached out sensitive fingers to La Forge's face. Her touch whispered over his skin before being stopped by Tunis. "Oh, horror…"

The older alien woman seized her sister's wrist and jolted her back into step with Gyrad, who took charge. "Please, Commander, take no offence. My sister - " Tunis's whole body spoke of her discomfiture and embarrassment - "has not learned to control her inquisitiveness yet." Tunis received, for her trouble, a dark glare, which she sensed. It distressed her; all could see it.

The Engineer licked his lips; he had seen only too clearly the reaction of dismay - even though well-hidden - from Unalt and the rest of the Lavithians. He had been glad they were not included in the rest of the tour. "None taken," he said, a polite enough lie.

"You must think us impolite, Commander," she hurried on in the manner of someone who wants to cover a solecism, "but we are... curious about the thing on your face." She tried to express her discomfort. "The sense you possess is such an enigma... but to... _cover_ the organs with an ugly machine...? "

Geordi and the rest of his colleagues listened as affably as they could, but without any real interest in hearing the excuse - if that was what it was. He had never had it easy amongst his 'normal' friends, so why should he accept the patronisation of an alien species merely because protocol demanded it? He felt disappointed somehow, though. In the Lavithians he had hoped to find kindred spirits.

"Oh?" responded Picard for the Chief Engineer. The word held a hint of ice, and Tunis, as well as the senior officers, recognized that ignoring this could estrange them further, something she could not allow to happen.

Tunis would not tolerate such misinterpretation... would have to make them understand their feelings if they were to rely on this human Captain and his strange crew. "You do not understand, Captain Picard," she insisted, earnest, desperate to communicate with this cold man who was freezing the air to absolute zero. "My people do not have the sense you call sight - " she was intense with effort, pleading with open palms - "to find one like us amongst you is to find we have common ground."

Picard and the rest of his officers began to relax as she tortuously tried to complete their liberation from the faux pas.

Troi tilted her head; she wanted to hear what Tunis had to say, and this was the first time she had truly felt Lavithian emotions almost unfettered. Reaching out a hand the Counselor touched the other woman lightly, realising this was permitted almost instinctively. "We hear you, Madam."

Tunis gave the small woman a bewitching smile, and sighed apologetically to La Forge. "You must have thought us so gauche, Commander. We meant no... " She halted in her speech, and placed herself in front of Geordi, putting her own fingers on his temples. Her lips vibrated faintly in some silent litany, and the darkly beautiful face softened from the hard expression she customarily wore.

Tunis reached inside her robe to take something small, but jewel-bright, to hand it to the engineer. "Please, Geordi La Forge, forgive us. We did not understand that you are honoured amongst your own people. We wish you to hold this in readiness... "

The Chief Engineer received the slender stem of the Lavithian Thought Flower, put the pansy-faced blossom to his nose and inhaled a deep, delicious fragrance reminiscent of sun warm apricots. Geordi offered hesitantly, "I... thank you."

Tunis turned her attention to the Betazoid. "We meant no harm, you must know, Counselor Troi."

Troi responded by allowing the brief stroke of Tunis's mind against her own. "I know," she reassured her.

Tunis again bowed to La Forge gracefully, all flowing lines, and golden hair. "Forgive us." The Engineer allowed her to place his hand on her face. He smiled, and Tunis released him, relaxing visibly.

Picard lowered his brows. "Then, Madam, you must accept our apologies also."

"Thank you," Tunis said simply.

* * *

Picard continued the rest of the tour with hardly any more interruption; his guests were politely interested in everything he showed them, stopping to quiz him or one of the officers about this point or that. He had been pleasantly surprised to find the Lavithians had done their homework in reams.

Arriving at the Holodeck, the Captain and his party found the remainder of the Lavithian delegation there, as was Ambassador Garr. There was also an individual to whom Worf had taken an instant dislike - one who purported to be a relative of Dut'vth Tunis, one who kept his predator's features turned on her, hyena-like. This tall, grizzled male was one Lord Cartha, and, in the Security Chief's opinion, bore keeping an eye on.

The tall Klingon made his way over to the First Officer's side, and pointed out Cartha. "Commander," he rumbled, "_that_ one is dangerous."

Riker quirked a brow at him, nibbling at a particularly flavoursome morsel. "Speculation, Worf?"

Worf folded his arms across his chest before making a reply, he did not really have anything to go on, just gut feeling - like his Captain - and appeared vaguely embarrassed at not having hard fact. "Counselor Troi admits to feeling uneasy about Cartha, sir. She - " he scowled and pressed his mouth into a thin line - "is not able to sense him, just as the others on Lavith."

Riker gestured to Deanna, who slowly came over to them, making social chit-chat as she did. "What's this about Cartha?"

She shook her head. "Will, I'll tell you what I told the Captain. I know there's something going on, but I don't know what... _yet_. Cartha... is bad news."

"Hmm!" grunted the First Officer, and pursed his mouth as he regarded the older Lavithian. "Is he related to Tunis and her siblings?"

"Yes," said Troi. "He's a relative on the distaff side." She gave Riker a wry look; her mouth twisting slightly. "At least, so I gather. But familial relationships are so difficult to establish in Lavithian genealogy, I could be wrong."

"He's certain he is," Worf stated, uninvited, but utterly convinced. He directed his dark stare at Riker and the Counselor. "That is all _I_ need to know."

Riker considered the problem before them briefly. "I think, Worf, we need to know how Tunis and her siblings feel about this Cartha." His blue gaze travelled the length of the tall alien male, and noted what the Klingon had spotted on Lavith's surface. "If you'll get on with that, Worf? Discreetly, I think, though, eh?"

Worf acknowledged the suggestion curtly. "Commander." Then went about the work with alacrity.

Riker moved smoothly, oil on water, to the Captain's side. He spoke quietly, a smile touching the corners of his mouth, hiding the cool evaluation in his eyes. "A word with you, please, sir."

Picard apologised to the man he had been conversing with, caught Riker's elbow and steered him a little way from the main party. "Be brief, Commander."

The First Officer features grew grave. "There's a possible issue here."

The Captain eyed his second in command. "Oh?"

"Nothing serious yet, sir. It's this damn - " Riker waved his hands about indicating the Holodeck - "business. Worf and Deanna both feel one of our - for want of a better word - guests is trouble with a capital 'T'."

Picard made a careful adjustment of his uniform, flicked imaginary fluff from the sleeve. "Cartha," he stated coolly.

"Yes, sir," agreed Riker, surprised as always by the Captain and his sharp insight. "And the siblings, Tunis' involvement in this ..."

"Tunis is hiding something, of that I am certain," maintained the Captain, after interrupting his First, and allowing a steely glint to enter his eyes. "I may not be a telepath, but this situation feels very wrong, Will." He directed his gaze at Worf, who was lurking malevolently at the table with a platter in one hand. "Your orders, Number One?" he asked pointedly.

"Worf's being discreet," Riker murmured in reply, some humour in his voice.

Picard gave a grunt in answer to this, then went on. "It may interest you, Number One, that Data has been able to trace the last incidence which necessitated the Y'Reth ceremony." Picard watched the Lavithians as they crowded the Holodeck, their voices molten-honey mellow, mingling with his crew and the Embassy staff.

The Commander stared at his Captain, then made a conscious effort to relax. "Sir?" The tones of the question held acres of curiosity.

"Yes, Will. Data has been highly efficient, as always." Picard huffed a breath. "Cartha is an uncle with a number of hopeful offspring - very hopeful... "

"Read ambitious?" Riker put in, and received a slight inclination of the head from the Captain. "Are we talking internal politics, sir? The variety where it's best to be seen and not heard?"

Picard continued to regard the Lavithian contingent, simply giving Riker a curt nod as a reply. After a pause he added in an undertone, "The ritual _usually_ indicates there was an assassination... " His voice faded and he exchanged a meaningful glance with the Commander. "A _successful_ assassination which involves family."

Riker gave a silent whistle. "Seems you were right, sir... but... The trouble is they're here and we can't easily get rid of them. Not the best diplomacy to tell... er... guests they're not welcome, and would they mind vacating the ship... " There really was no need to go on, the ramifications were clear enough.

"Quite," said Picard, eyes cold. He noticed the movement of his Chief of Security towards them. The bearing of the man made him look more carefully, Worf was troubled, and if he was, then it behoved the Captain to feel the same way.

The Klingon was quite brusque, and brushed past the clusters of people, almost flying in the lighter gravity, to reach his commanding officers.

Upon obtaining his goal, Worf rumbled out what was bothering him. "Captain, Tunis' sister, Laril, is missing, and has not been seen for the last hour."

As if these words were a trigger, Tunis, her brother Unalt and Ambassador Garr closed in on the Captain, as did Cartha. They suddenly surrounded the smaller human, causing him to take an involuntary step backward.

The alien male spoke first; his words were spat out in haste as he pushed aside Tunis to get even closer to Picard. "You will hear my claim, Captain, and witness that, I, Cartha, Lord of Hullias, claim the Presidency of Lavith for my bloodline. Tunis' rule will be handicapped by the death of Laril, and she must renounce her right, and place it in my hands... "

Tunis and Unalt both snarled at their uncle, and the woman gyrated to face Picard. "He is a TRAITOR!" she hissed, and spat at Cartha, hate boiling on her golden face. "Captain Picard, he is not to be trusted. He is a liar, a piece of excrement!" Tunis leaned over him, distraught, but firm in her resolve. "Captain Picard, my siblings - " she raised her voice to its highest pitch, and everyone in the room turned to listen, propelled, unable not to - "and I claim asylum from Lord Cartha. My friend, Garr, and _you_ I claim as witness that he did murder my sire, Pelatar, to force the succession rites before their rightful time. That he seeks to claim the Presidency for his own bloodline... " She turned her blind face towards Cartha, and scoffed at him openly, allowed her sonar to sweep through him.

Tunis returned her attention to the Captain then, regret vying for position on her features. _Forgive this one, Jean-Luc Picard, for what you did not wish upon yourself_. But she could sense no forgiveness in the man. His anger battered at her, but she found it was not just directed at her. Garr and himself were included in the scathing self-rebuke. From the brief touch of her mind in his, Tunis learned a lot about this human and his exacting standards.

Riker traded a glance with Worf, and repeated, "Murder?" Pausing to catch up, he continued, "You know Laril is missing, Madam, don't you?" He talked as loud as he could over the sound of hell breaking loose - attempted to direct some sanity into the disorder, and Worf waded off to try and find the instigator.

Unalt rotated to face the First Officer. "Beloved sister...? That cannot be. We have held her thought in our minds, and she is in no danger - " Abruptly, he broke off, standing stock-still, listening, then he cried out at the same time as his siblings. "Beloved...!"

They reeled together and huddled in a group, grief overtaking them. Cartha stood rock steady, utterly certain Laril was no longer a problem.

Riker grasped the eldest brother gently, cautious of his strength. "Unalt, is she alive, and if she is, can you sense where?"

"She... lives," Unalt gasped, pushing at the Commander's hands with his own. Riker tightened his grip, and Unalt sagged against him. "The pain, the cruel embrace - "

"Where, Unalt?!" Riker barked, and a clear picture flashed into his mind. "Worf!" The Commander saw the Klingon turn his head. "Engineering!"

* * *

Laril, along with all her siblings, had been fascinated by the immensity and complexity of the Starship. Her mind had reeled against Gyrad's with exclamations of the strangeness of it all, and she had drawn the folds of her ceremonial robe discreetly over her mouth to hide her astonishment. Protocol did demand that!

The Holodeck had further amazed her - Lavith truly had nothing to rival this! She wandered away from the main group, intent on research of a personal nature. She wanted to taste some of these exotic delicacies her strong sense of smell told her were waiting on a table. As always, she could feel the delicate presence of her siblings in the background of her mind, reassuring her of her safety.

At the table, she allowed the folds of brilliant purple to fall from her face and directed her attention to the burgeoning foodstuffs arranged so temptingly. Long, slender fingers found a pear and Laril raised it to her nose, relishing the scent of it. She took a bite, a cautious taste, and caught at the juice of the ripe fruit as it spilled into her mouth. Delicious! She devoured it eagerly, and found more. Terran foods were so wonderful!

"Dut'orth Laril?"

Startled from her experimentation, Laril came to attention at the sound of both her name and her title. She faced the source of the voice, sonar identifying the individual as a member of Ambassador Garr's staff.

"Riefenstahl?" she asked, curiosity getting the upper hand.

The man bowed, dutifully expressing the correct greetings for Tunis' young sister. "How can I assist you?" she said patiently, equally polite and bound by social convention.

He dismissed her request, smiled faintly at her. "Rather, Madam, it is how we - " he indicated another man whom she could not claim to know - "might help you."

"I see." Laril carefully replaced both the fruit, and the plate she had been holding back on the table. "There is something wrong?" The young woman tried to find her siblings in the crush of bodies, but was unable to find more than a flash of them through the link; she felt suddenly anxious. She pressed for more information. "What's the matter, Riefenstahl? Something has happened?"

He shook his head in an urgent manner. "It would be... most unwise to speak of this here. As you will carry the line forward for the future, you must know of the plot to discredit your future mate."

Laril said nothing, appalled; she stilled her thoughts, sweeping the man and his companion. "What of him?"

"Not here. Please allow me and Dickinson to take you to the Ambassador and he will be able to tell you more."

She was not certain she should go, hesitating still, though she could sense no duplicity in him, in either of them. "Garr is where?"

The two human males directed her attention away from the Holodeck to the exit, and led her away. It was far too late when she realised she had been tricked, and that these were her uncle's creatures.

Laril attempted to fight them, but was no match for their strength, and she found herself removed bodily from the presence of all she held dear. Removed and deposited in a place where she found herself crushed. Laril gathered all the last dregs of her family's enormous willpower and screamed for help. Her mind chased the sibling link, smashing through the dullness caused by grief to reach her sister and brothers.

_CARTHA_, she screamed again. _MURDERER! TRAITOR_! And felt the power of four minds try to help her breath.

* * *

La Forge knew he should be at the dinner, but he was glad he had been able to make an excuse and escape back to engineering. Besides, he had something he wanted to check - something he had spent a lot of time and trouble on, and did not have any intention of letting slip. While he was there he could check the environmental controls were A.O.K. too, make certain there would not be any gravity flux to upset their visitors. He had almost convinced himself this was the reason he did not want to be there.

The sound of pounding feet caused him to turn his head, and he spotted an agitated Worf leading a party of Security personnel. As the Klingon drew up beside his friend, he growled, "Have you seen Laril, Geordi?"

The Chief Engineer cocked a brow at the big man as he fell into step. "No. Should I have?"

Worf grunted in reply, then said, "Her brother thinks she is here."

La Forge made a moue with his mouth. "Okay. Any idea _where_ in engineering she might be?"

"A corridor was all the image Unalt gave Commander Riker," replied Worf, but he did not sound certain. "The accuracy of the image cannot be relied on, I think."

La Forge gave a slight nod of his head in comprehension - who knew how the Lavithians 'saw' their world? It would not be something anyone of his or Worf's species who could understand the different concepts a race, blind through an evolutionary jump, equipped with sonar and telepathy, would be able to determine. It was a wonder the Lavithians and the rest of the Federation had anything at all in common.

The Chief Engineer addressed Worf's concern. "Let's go look for her." He headed away from the Klingon, then stopped as something occurred to him. "Worf, was there anything else Unalt said which might give us an idea where she could've gone?"

"A description of pressure," the Klingon rumbled. "She could be anywhere the gravity is higher."

La Forge licked his lips. "Narrows it down to a couple of definite areas though." He continued on his way with his friend close on his heels.

They had reached the central area of engineering and were looking carefully at the table on which the diagram of the Enterprise was spread. The Chief of Security ran impatient fingers over the smooth surface. He scowled, then tapped a forefinger.

"There," he announced with certainty. A small blip on the otherwise pristine top showed his accuracy.

Geordi peered at what the Klingon had found, and said, "Computer verifies an alien life form in that section, Worf. C'mon, we'd better get to her; she's in an environment that'll make short work of her."

Worf nodded his agreement, and they both rushed off in the direction they now knew the alien female to be in.

The journey was short, made shorter by need, and it was La Forge who heard the faint, almost muffled breathing first, laboured and painful. He moved faster than he ever had before, swinging round the corner of the corridor to see a crumpled form desperately trying to break the grip of the gravity embracing her.

The Engineer took to his heels, slid to a halt and carefully, carefully, pulled the tall slim form of Laril into his arms. She was all reed-fragile bones, soft furred skin, and agony, pouring from her in an emotional shower that brought him out in a sweat. Rising to his feet, he headed back the way he had come, towards the safe haven of the lighter gravity field, and saw Worf waiting to welcome them.

"Is she alive?" Worf wanted to know, pragmatism, as always, first. He had searched the corridor, and found no clues, so wanted to talk to Laril as soon as she was able.

"Just," Geordi muttered as he carried his feather-like burden to safety and to life. Reaching the interior of the engineering department again, La Forge carefully laid Laril to rest on the floor, gently arranging slender limbs into more natural poses, cautious in case she had sustained fractures to her bones.

The Klingon bent over their charge also, checking, probing, as precisely as possible under the circumstances, for those injuries not so immediately obvious. He grunted with a certain amount of satisfaction when he found nothing of note.

Slapping his insignia, Worf snapped, "Medical emergency, engineering." He felt Laril was probably fine, but it would do no harm to obtain a second opinion.

"Found the Lavithian?" asked Beverly Crusher momentarily in reply; her voice indicated her intensely felt relief.

"Yes," agreed Worf, and reeled off how the woman had been found and retrieved.

"Fine," approved Crusher. "I'm on my way."

Worf turned to the engineer. "Geordi, I must check with Commander Riker about this. I'd be grateful if you'd stay with Laril until I can question her about how she came to be in this place."

La Forge glanced up at his friend; his VISOR glinted in the light of the room, and he gave Worf a curt acknowledgement. "Sure. Just don't be too long." He spoke to the Klingon's retreating back, then regarded the woman lying on the floor. He got to his haunches, hunkered down beside her, and observed.

Laril's fingers twitched, and she gave a sudden moan, arching her back away from its flat, cold surface; her arms spasmed. The Engineer gripped her wrists as gently as he could so he could stop her from thrashing around - if that was what she was going to do - and possibly causing herself damage. "Don't move, Laril. The Doctor will be here soon to check you out and get you to sickbay."

"Caa...rtha...!" she husked, but did as he requested, her body becoming limp.

_Interesting.. something to pass on to Worf_, the Engineer thought briefly, but said aloud, "You're okay." La Forge spoke softly, hoped he sounded reassuring, repeating himself. "Laril, you're safe now. Dr. Crusher'll get you to sickbay - "

"Geordi La Forge...?" Laril's voice whispered out of her throat, and she groaned as she took another still painful breath. "Ahhh, how... do you stand... the terrible... strength of your... world?" she wondered; her blind, beautiful face was wracked with agony still, and she took each breath as if it split her in two.

The Engineer shrugged. "Evolution, I guess." His dry comment was greeted by a faint touch in his mind, and then she lapsed into unconsciousness. Briefly La Forge considered checking the medics were on their way again, but managed to resist the temptation; he decided on watching the woman, to make certain this was just a lapse to unconsciousness and not something more sinister.

* * *

Picard glared at Garr with all the force he could muster. That this _diplomat_ - the word acquired in his mind a degree of filth - had seen fit to embroil his crew, his ship, and himself in a political situation was... despicable! Unthinkable! And yet, it had happened. That they had been manipulated so easily...!

He deliberately turned his attention onto the clustered Lavithians, gathering the anger away to be used more efficiently, to channel it to better routes.

"Ambassador," he said finally, when he could trust himself to speak - absently he watched the Counselor attempting to comfort Tunis, Unalt and their brothers. "Ambassador, what do you know of this?" Even so, his voice was strained.

Garr's cold features travelled in his direction. "Picard, I... we owe you an explanation, but I am unable to provide it now. Please... let us be assured of Laril's safety before I offer one."

Picard snorted, and swung on his heel away from the man to make his way back to his First Officer. _You mean_, the thought flittered around his head in derisive accents, _let's check with Tunis before I dig a deeper hole for myself!_ He thinned his mouth as he looked this way, then that, at the chaos reigning on the Holodeck. "Where," he snapped, "is Cartha?"

"Held," assured Riker swiftly; he finished addressing the security personnel who were present on the Holodeck before turning his attention back fully to Picard. "Worf managed to get him before he got away."

The Captain sucked a breath through clenched teeth, and tugged his uniform into place. "Good." He gazed at the Commander. "And the rest of Cartha's party?"

"Also detained, sir."

"Excellent, Number One. I think it's about time we got to the bottom of this, don't you?"

"If we can, sir," agreed Riker.

The Captain strode purposefully towards the Holodeck exit, beckoning his senior officers to follow, which they did. An insistent beeping broke the tense atmosphere.

Picard grunted impatiently. "Yes."

"Sir." It was Worf, and the deep voice hesitated fractionally before continuing. "We have found Laril."

"Alive, Worf?" asked Picard, not certain he found the tone of his Security Chief's voice promising.

"Yes, Captain," the Klingon responded, "and I'm pleased to report she does not seem to have taken any lasting ill from her exposure to a higher gravitational field, sir. Geordi has informed me of... further traitors, inspired by Cartha to act against the Ambassador, and ruin the reputation of the Federation for impartiality."

"On Garr's staff...?" Picard was not truly surprised by the information; it had to have been the only way to cause such mayhem. He let out a faint sigh of relief. "Very good, Lieutenant. I'll meet you in sickbay with the rest of the party." He threw a quick glance over his shoulder at Riker. "We should all find what we're about to hear most intriguing."

"Aye, sir." The Security Chief sounded as if he concurred whole-heartedly with his Captain's appraisal. "Worf out."

Picard addressed the Commander. "Shall we go, Number One?"

* * *

Save for the sound of the Lavithians soft breathing as they gathered around their sister's bed, sickbay was remarkably quiet. The two younger brothers remained huddled about Laril as Tunis and Unalt broke away to speak with their host.

Crusher finished her observations with a satisfied nod and a quick flick of auburn hair from out of her eyes. "She's doing good," she announced, and smiled at a stern and palpably annoyed Captain. _He has every damn right to be_, she reflected sympathetically.

Tunis clasped her brother's hand, almost as if she sought courage from the contact. "Captain Picard, please will you listen to our explanation?"

Riker and Worf, who both stood at a slight distance from the major protagonists, glanced at each other, sharing the same feeling of distrust, but palpably annoyed also.

The Captain eyed the two Lavithians, pursed his mouth slightly - tightening it - which was the only way anyone could tell he was exceptionally displeased. "Madam, sir - " punctiliously polite, as always, he bowed - "I await your reasoning with pleasure. Please continue."

Tunis directed her face towards the familiar and much admired human Ambassador, searching him for support. Garr was as angry as the human Captain - he had been as much a pawn in the late Pelatar's scheme as Picard. She truly regretted the need to use an old and dear family friend in such an unkind manner, but sometimes the ends justified the means. And in this case they had been amply repaid.

"Please, Ambassador... Charles - " Tunis' voice held a faint plea, and the use of his given name caused Garr to start - "will you listen to my tale?"

Garr swung to face the Dut'vth, schooled his face into a distant mask. "Madam - " he inclined his head graciously towards her - "both I and Captain Picard await your pleasure."

"Somewhere private?" she enquired, and Crusher jerked her head at her office. The three of them made their way over through the doors and Tunis broke from them to pace agitatedly around the small room.

She stopped long enough to throw a comment at them as they bided their time. "You must think us untrustworthy, and this grieves me greatly, but there was _no_ other way. I would have been more direct if I could"

"No other way?" Picard asked. He set his back against the chair he sat in, cocked his head and waited. "I have always believed that directness is something to be admired in any society The Ambassador stood with a stern, hooded look, his arms folded as he gazed at the young alien woman.

Tunis halted altogether, stood stock still in front of them, and bowed her head. "No other way," she repeated "My sire was murdered by poison, sirs. One which is rarely used in these enlightened times. It's distilled from the Thought Flower, and is very potent." She drew in a long breath. "Cartha's use of it was in accordance with the Old Ways, but unlooked for." The woman's features turned fierce and she exposed the sharp points of her teeth, then she bent forward to touch her head to her hands. "He did not reckon on Pelatar's foresight, and gravely miscalculated the bond present between me and mine. Charles... was - " Tunis held up a hand to forestall the Ambassador - "was an unwitting tool in the play for power. We hope you will understand... "

Garr fidgeted, ran a thoughtful hand through his iron-grey beard. "You should have told me," he said; his words held slight disapprobation, but had the faint tinge of understanding also. "I would have helped you in any way I could."

"I could _not_, my friend," Tunis responded. "To have done so would have put your life in danger from Cartha - "

The Ambassador snorted, waved a hand under her nose. "As if I would consider that, my dear - ''

Tunis interrupted in turn. "I know. But I _needed_ you alive, Charles, and so did my father."

Picard had listened to the Dut'vth with interest, now he wanted some questions answered. "Pelatar knew of the plot to assassinate him?"

"Of course." Tunis sounded surprised he even needed to ask the question. "It was in accordance with the ancient rite of Byath. Cartha's sole error lay in trying to separate my siblings and me, and kill Laril."

Picard managed a frown. "Laril's disappearance on this ship was actually a part of the plot to overthrow you and your family?"

"Yes, Captain Picard. It was." Tunis allowed some emotion over her striking features, the first that had not been contrived; she gave a short snort of derision. "He thought we would be so mind-blind after the death of our father, so numbed by our grief and his treachery, we would be unable to act. The sibling bond proved his undoing."

The Captain shook his head in bemusement. If anybody chose to ask him right now what he thought was going on, he could only answer with certainty that he knew there had been an attempted coup. The convoluted manner it had been put together fascinated him - such intrigue, and such method and purpose. His, though, was not to reason why. After all, Garr seemed more than satisfied with the why and wherefore.

For respite he looked out of the doors into the main sickbay area, could see Troi communing with the other Lavithians over their sister. He sighed, understanding came late, and so did resignation.

"You used us, Tunis. You used me," he said

Tunis acknowledged the statement with a brief bending of her head "I had no choice in the matter, Captain. The wheels had been set in motion long before I was of age." She drew closer to the chair Picard was sat in. "The poison of the Thought Flower is insidious. It takes many years of consistent use to kill its victim, and Pelatar was privy to the signs it engendered in him."

The Captain shook his head with distaste. He looked up at her. "Then surely Cartha was merely doing what he saw as his right?"

Tunis gave a short gasp, then smiled with pleasure. "Laril... beloved" She passed out of the office and made her way over to the biobed her sister lay on.

Picard cocked an eyebrow at his fellow human, and they followed.

Worf was scowling at the scene as they drew closer to the Lavithians. He gave his Captain a brief nod, and stood back.

"Dr. Crusher," began Picard, "how is Laril?"

The Doctor tilted her head to one side, and folded her arms. "No lasting damage, Jean-Luc," she responded. "In fact, I'd say she's recovered remarkably swiftly, considering the trauma which could have resulted from her little excursion."

The patient moved her head in response to Crusher's words, and lifted her hands for her sister and brothers to take. She whispered, "Where is Geordi La Forge, beloved?"

"Engineering," replied Riker quickly, and found the sonar directed at him from all five of the siblings.

"We must have the Thought Flower we gave him to hold," Tunis murmured softly.

"Why?" asked the First Officer curiously.

They exchanged glances, and it was Garr who spoke up for them. "To... ease Cartha into the next world."

Each officer stiffened with shock, a myriad thoughts flashing in their heads, all easily read by the aliens standing before them. That such a custom existed still among such civilised people was almost unthinkable.

"We have him in custody," Worf growled. "He will be tried for the attempted murder of your sister - "

Tunis and Unalt exchanged something between them. A free trade of thoughts. They merely ignored the Security Chief, and addressed Picard, cutting into the Klingon's speech.

"It is his right, Captain, to choose the equal death. You cannot interfere. The Flowers are bred and held by only one blood-line; they are specific in their abilities to kill, and we have chosen Cartha to take the poison from ours. Hear us... its precarious nature is all the more dangerous when it is retained by one not meant for it."

"Why Geordi? Because he's blind?" The Captain's further questions received only mute agreement.

Garr touched Picard briefly on the forearm. "What the Dut'vth says is true, Picard. It is their right - now! - to insist - _insist_ mark you, that Cartha die in the same manner as their sire. He has failed, and all he holds dear is forfeit."

The Captain scanned the Ambassador's features with the practised ease of a commander of men; he searched the unknown, a role not totally unfamiliar to him. He did not like it - he did not have to. Just because a culture had specific rituals and values, did not mean he had to like them, appreciate them, or see them as right.

So, reluctantly, and to his own surprise, he inclined his head. "Very well." He drew in a deep breath, huffed it out sharply, spoke to Worf. "See that Mr. La Forge returns the Thought Flower, Lieutenant, and - " he stopped for a moment; his jaw tightened before he continued- "also that the prisoners are turned over to the relevant Lavithian security forces."

The Security Chief's voice responded slowly. "Aye, Captain."

Tunis, Unalt, Laril and their brothers directed their faces towards the Human Captain. In concert he heard them exclaim their thanks. But... he heard none of it.

* * *

Picard stood and looked out of the long window set into the bulkhead of his ready room, leaned his hand against the strut and watched the globe of Lavith revolve steadily on its axis. The entire affair with the Lavithian people had left a bitter taste in his mouth. It was an experience he would not care to repeat under any circumstances. One more thing to put down to experience, one more thing to remember.

A new sound distracted the Captain from his musing, and absently, in response to the door chime, he said, "Come."

He heard the door swish open, and close. "Guinan." He turned to see if he was correct. He was.

She strolled across the room, placed herself comfortably on the settee, and watched him steadily. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

Picard blew out a breath, and quirked his mouth at her wryly. "A little... overworked." They both made a game effort to smile at the subtle joke.

"You did what you had to," she reminded him.

Picard sighed, ran a hand over his eyes wearily. "So I'm told, Guinan. So I'm told."

"Sometimes, Captain, we're railroaded into circumstances we don't like - " Picard gave a grunt in reply - "and have to make the best of a bad situation." She gazed at the stiff shoulders, folded her hands neatly into her lap. "Don't be too hard on yourself."

Picard set his back a little straighter, and moved to join her."Tea, Guinan?" he asked, and she smiled at him.


End file.
